The Farmhouse
by Wings of a Bird
Summary: Sera struggles with the aftermath of Pietro's death. Four-shot. ****Read "Love is my Weakness" first****


**A/N: This ended up being suuuuper long. Sorry it took so long to write...it was incredibly draining...you'll see why. Cue the evil writer's laugh. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!**

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I run my thumb up and down the inside of my forearm. The feeling of the little ridges that crisscross it is soothing. I rub my arm without realizing it sometimes. When I start getting freaked out. When it's just too much.

But there's still empty space. I take the knife out from under my pillow and slice it across my skin. My eyes seem glued to the little line of blood as it rises to the surface. It doesn't hurt as much as it used to. Not that it ever hurt enough. I press it, hard, until my breath hitches. I take my thumb off of it and watch the blood seep in again. I pick up the knife again and draw the blade over my arm. Again and again. Until my entire forearm prickles and stings. Stinging isn't enough, though. It has to hurt more. _More._ I chuck the knife at the wall and fall back onto my bed. My knees come up to my chest and I stare at my arm.

It used to help. It used to help me ignore the weight in my chest. But it doesn't anymore. And I don't know what to do. Now it just hurts.

 _What's the point, anyway? What's the POINT? No one cares if I live or die anymore._

 _Wanda does._ The voice is weak and small. Still, it keeps telling me that. Like a broken record.

 _Oh, shut up. She babysits you because she feels like she has to. Not because she cares._

 _But she does,_ the voice insists.

 _SHUT UP! NO ONE cares about you. Stop lying to yourself. I bet most of the people on this stupid team wish you were dead._

What if I were dead?

What if I were?

My lips twist into a bitter smirk. I've thought that a lot in the past several months. More times than I can count. But it's never come to anything. I just don't have the guts to go through with it. I'd rather lie here and rot than…than… _kill myself_. Those two words come out in a whisper, even in my head.

 _But what if I were?_

If I were dead, it would go a long way towards making up for all the people I killed. It would keep me from doing it again. I'd be out of Wanda's hair, and this new "team" wouldn't have to babysit me anymore. I'd be out of my misery. No more pain. And, if there is some kind of afterlife, I might even see Pietro and Milo. Not that I really believe in that kind of stuff, but _what if?_

 _What if I did it? Went through with it?_

 _Let's say I were to do it. How?_

There are lots of dangerous things just lying around. I mean, I work with a team of superheroes. All I'd have to do is go down to the training floor and grab a knife or a gun or anything, really. It would be easy. That's where the knife I have came from, after all. It'd be easy. But that's…messy. Blowing my brains out would be really messy. And stabbing myself would just be…hard. I don't think I could do that.

Hanging myself, on the other hand, would be very clean, and all I'd have to do is step off of a chair or something. I wouldn't have to directly kill myself. The rope would do the work for me. But there aren't very many good rafters in this place. What about swallowing some kind of chemicals? That would be pretty clean, though probably really painful. And I'm not sure how much of what chemicals would kill me. I'd have to ask someone or look it up. And that might lead to awkward questions. I don't want anyone to know what I'm trying to do before I do it. Their stupid, noble ideals would make them try to stop me, even if they don't really care if I die or not. And if they don't know about it beforehand, they can't blame themselves. I'd just be gone. Poof. Just like that. It sounds so simple in my head. But I've been down this same road so many times, and it's never come to anything. Because—I'm—such a— _COWARD!_

I hate myself sometimes.

Well, all the time, but sometimes more than others.

 _Pietro DIED to save someone else. That's how good he was. And I can't even get up the courage to kill myself to save Wanda from the inconvenience of my existence? Pietro would be ashamed of you. Milo, too. He died to give YOU a chance. A chance to get away from Ovechkin, to become a better person. To move on. Well, you got away from Ovechkin. It's been four months now. And you still haven't done anything like what Milo would have wanted. You make me sick. Just kill yourself, why don't you? Otherwise you'll just waste your life and everyone's time and energy._

I roll over onto my other side, trying to shut out my thoughts. _You can't even leave the room without Wanda holding your hand. What makes you think you'd ever have the guts to go through with it?_

 _Is this how it's always going to be?_

I can see my life stretching out in front of me, confined to this room, beneath this crushing weight, trapped between my need to die and my need to live. I can't do this. I can't. Not for the rest of my life. There's no way. My vision blurs with tears as I shake my head. I press the side of my fist into my mouth to muffle the hiccupping. _I CAN'T DO THIS._

The sobs seem to dry up as a dead calm fills me. Staring numbly at the wall, I feel a last tear roll over my nose. I sit up, cross-legged on the mattress. It's all so far away now. It doesn't matter. None of it. I glance over at the knife. Not really realizing what I'm doing, I stand and pick it up. I settle myself back on the bed, and rest my arm on my crossed legs to keep it steady. The knife point trembles as I bring it close to my skin.

The door swings open. "Dinner's ready," Wanda says, poking her head in. I hear a sharp intake of breath. "What are you doing?" Her voice has gone flat.

I don't answer. The knife point presses into my skin. I don't even care if she finds out. It doesn't matter. She comes over to me.

"Sera-" She rips my arm away from the knife, and a line of blood appears. "What is this?" Her eyes are locked onto mine, but I don't look up from my lap. She makes a choked noise. "I had no—I didn't know…Sera…" Her fingers shake as she unfolds my hand and takes the knife. She stands, still staring at me. "I—Sera, I…" I can hear her breath shuddering in and out. My eyes flick up to her face, just for a moment. Accidentally. Staring at my arm again, I stop breathing. It's so still. _Her face._ She looked so scared. Terrified. Haunted. There are a million words to describe what I saw on her face. But none of them come close.

I can't breathe. Seeing how bad she's hurt. How bad I hurt her.

Sometimes I wish they'd never given me my sight back.

Her eyes are still locked on me. Then she turns and goes. I can hear her shouting Clint's name.

 _I did that to her._

 _That was my fault._

 _If she'd never known me, her life would be so much better._

 _WHY DO I KEEP HURTING PEOPLE?_

 _I don't even have an excuse anymore._

 _There's no Ovechkin threatening my friends._

 _It's all me now._

 _Is this just who I am?_

 _Someone who can't do anything but hurt and kill?_

 _I never wanted this._

 _No one else wanted this either._

 _It has to stop._

 _The hurting, the killing._

 _Right. Now._

 _Right. Here._

 _I have to stop._

I know right then that I have to go through with it.

For Wanda and the rest of the team, if not for me.

But I still have no freaking idea how to do it.

My fists ball up, and I rest my head on them, rubbing my forehead like that would make my brain think of something useful.

 _Nothing._

 _Still nothing._

 _NOTHING._

I pound my fist into the bed, but that's too soft. Not satisfying enough. I go for the wall, but stop short. Just because my stupid brain is telling me that hitting the wall will hurt. _I have been through so much pain in the past year, and my brain won't let me PUNCH A WALL? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?_

I am so beyond done with not having the guts to do things.

So I do it anyway.

I punch the wall.

Even though it's stupid and won't solve anything.

I don't even punch it that hard.

Not hard enough to hurt.

 _WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?_

I wish I had the knife back.

Then I could actually do something that would make it hurt less.

But that's gone, and I know they won't let me near any weapons now.

 _Why do they do that? Pretend to care?_

 _If they really cared, they'd let me do it._

 _It's what I want._

 _It's what I have to do._

 _It's. What. I. Want._

There's a knock on the door.

 _LEAVE ME ALONE!_

But they don't. Because apparently suicidal people have NO. PRIVACY.

Wanda comes in.

"Hey," she says. That's all.

 _What a stupid thing to say._

But I still say it back. "Hey."

 _What an extremely stupid thing to say._

She sits on the bed next to me and puts her arm around me. I stiffen, my shoulders tensing. Movement off to my right catches my eye. It's her fingers. Wiggling in that weird way they do when she's—

 _Oh. No, Wanda. No, don't. Please don't. I—_

Red mist seeps into my mind, makes everything hazy.

Nothing.

Nothing but red.

Then my hands come into focus again. I blink hard and look around to get my bearings. There's Wanda, sitting right next to me. Her face is pale, her eyes horrified as she stares blindly into me. She looks like she's seen death. Then her eyelids flutter. Her eyes focus on me again.

And then the red.

 _A lullaby echoes through the mist._

 _It's so familiar._

 _Maybe something from when I was a kid._

 _Arms wrap around me. I sink into their grip. I'm safe there, I know that._

 _I am safe._

 _I smile._

 _My head nods, and seconds—minutes?—disappear in snatches of sleep._

 _The chest that supports my back vibrates with the feeling of the lullaby. They're humming it now._

 _Peace. Comfort. Tranquility. They swallow me whole. The red fades into black. And I fade out of existence._

 _The red fog is clawed aside by hands of fire. A grinning skeleton, flames licking its bones and the blackness that cloaks it, seems to shimmer in the haze. The face turns towards me, empty sockets staring into my mind, my soul, myself._

 _I turn, searching for the arms that held me. Nothing but darkness and red mist. A hand scratches at my scalp, grips my hair, turns my head back towards the skeleton. He is inches away from my face now. I scream as the flames lick my face. He grins silently at my agony. His hands caress my face and grip, hard, on either side. Screams rip through my throat._

 _A jolt of fire runs through me._

 _Darkness flickers in front of my eyes._

 _Another jolt, and the flames are gone._

I'm all tangled up in the sheets, covered in sweat, shaking. My breath rasps in my throat. I rub my face to make sure it's still there, my eyes shut against the skeleton's grinning face. The mattress shifts a little under me, and my eyes fly open, nerves shrieking to the breaking point. It's Wanda. She's lying on the bed next to me. Sleeping peacefully.

 _WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER?_

 _How can she just SLEEP?_

 _I've barely had a solid night of sleep since I got here, and she just LIES THERE like NOTHING is wrong?_

My fists clench. I want to hit her so bad. I want to make her hurt. I want to make her _understand._

 _This must have been SO easy for her. Little miss Wanda Maximoff, without a care in the world._

Then another jolt shudders through my body.

 _That was in the nightmare, wasn't it?_

 _It wasn't real._

A boom follows it.

 _A storm?_

I climb over Wanda and go to the window. Peeking through the blinds, I see nothing but black. I squint and blink, trying to make something come into focus. A burst of panic hits me as I wonder if something's happened to my eyes, if I'm going blind again.

 _Shut up and calm down. Your eyes are fine._

Then a bolt of lightning splits the sky and I feel it crack through my body. The thunder booms again. I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to make myself relax. _I'm definitely not going back to bed._

Another bolt of light, and my body seizes up again. Wincing, I wonder how many of those my body can take before something goes wrong. Maybe I'll have a heart attack or my organs will fry or my brain will explode. Not the most pleasant ways to go.

 _But at least I'd be gone. For good._

I stare out at the blackness, wondering.

 _Would it work? Would a lightning bolt kill me?_

My body's been handling lightning for ages now. It's not likely to start being lethal now.

 _But maybe it just takes a little more._

 _It's worth a shot._

Anything's worth a shot at this point.

I yank up the blinds to give me a clearer view of the sky, and Wanda stirs. Another deep, peaceful breath.

 _She'll try to stop me._

I can't let her wake up.

I kneel by the bed, caressing her face with my hand. I give her a bitter smile.

"I hope this hurts, Wanda," I whisper in her ear, then shock her. Her body goes stiff, then slumps back into the bed. I stand and go back to the window. By the time the rest of them get in here, I'll be dead.

I place my hand against the glass, wondering if I could shatter it.

 _Well, there's only one way to find out._

The electricity buzzes through my veins, and the glass explodes. My hands fly up to shield my face, but I still feel the tiny shards sting my skin. Droplets of blood appear on my arms and wrists. The floor is covered in glass now.

 _Friday will be notifying them now. I have to hurry._

I close my eyes and slow my breathing. I feel the burning inside me, raging on. I feel the prickling of lightning in the storm clouds. _It's coming._ Electricity crackles around me and my hair stands on end. I reach for the burning and crush it out of me. A scream lights my throat as the lightning tears through my body.

There's an instant of nothing.

Then the lightning slams into me and the world goes white.

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 **A/N: Be sure to let me know what you think! Reviews are much appreciated, friends!**


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